


True Nature's Child

by deardracula



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-17 23:15:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2326712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deardracula/pseuds/deardracula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was times and situations like the one Dean found himself in, when he realize that he was really out of touch. Well, maybe it was common sense, but when the thoughts running through his head didn't scare him anymore, or when they started to feel like a perfectly rational option, given their situation, he knew he was in too deep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title courtesy of Steppenwolf

 

            Sometimes things were hard to put into words. Or the words came quite naturally and it was just the subject that was hard to explain to other people, or even to yourself. Sometimes certain things were just so blatantly wrong that you couldn't even utter the words without the fear of a bat connecting with the back of your skull.

            It was times and situations like the one Dean found himself in, when he realize that he was really out of touch. Well, maybe it was common fucking sense, but when the thoughts running through his head didn't scare him anymore, or when they started to feel like a perfectly rational option, given their situation, he knew he was fucked.

 

Yeah, he was thoroughly and completely fucked.

 

            He couldn't even begin to imagine the looks on his family's faces if they suddenly obtained some sort of mind reading ability. Sam, his father, god forbid his mother, bless her. Somehow he knew that if she was still alive he would be living a perfectly normal life. Not just normal in the sense that all he and the other two members of his family did was drift across the country, squat in abandoned houses and search for little girls who were certain that there was a monster under her bed, but normal in the sense that he wouldn’t think incest could be reasonable in a certain scenario. And he was damn sure that he wouldn't be having “perfectly platonic” masturbatory fantasies about his little brother.

He never made a pass at Sam, he wasn't a pervert, but if Sam came on to him? Forget it.

            He was in the car with Sam and their Dad, the scenery outside slick and smooth. They were somewhere in Utah, maybe, Dean had lost count of the state borders they had crossed. Sam was in the back reading something thick and brooding while Dean’s legs were hanging out the window, his knees bent over the frame. Space Oddity was pouring out of the stereo and their dad was keeping time with the beat with his fingers along the steering wheel. “You boys hungry?”

“Always,” Dean smirked, glancing back at Sam who was marking his place in his book.

“I could eat.”

 

* * *

 

 

            To their dad, Sam was still too young to be out in the field on a hunt. Sam was just more useful doing research, he claimed. That didn't stop him from making Sam train just as hard as Dean did. Sound body, sound mind their dad always said.

            Most of the time Dean went easy on him, not blowing his knees out or punching him the face or anything. When they spared, he was just playing defense, letting Sam try to attack his bad knee and dislocate his shoulder, because it was good practice and Dean was a good brother.

            Of course Sam had never actually seen Dean in a real hand to hand fight with some sort of toothy creature. He didn't like to brag, but he was better than his Dad at killing things with his bare hands, and if he thought about it, he was probably the best hunter around. Sam had never experienced that first hand through and no matter how often their Dad told him how deadly Dean really was, Sam still swore that he was genuinely kicking Dean’s ass. But that was okay, it was good for the kid’s self-esteem.  

“Okay Sammy, that’s enough for today,” Dean huffed, whipping the blood that started to drip out of his nose off his face.

“I’m just too much for you, huh?” Sam panted happily with his hands on his hips.

“You’re the next Muhammad Ali.” Dean turned so Sam couldn't see his unstoppable eye roll. “Come on, I’ll make us some food.”

            The only thing in the motel mini fridge was a prehistoric beer and a box of baking soda. Their dad had said he’d be back two days ago, claiming that the hunt would be short and sweet so he didn’t think he would need to leave extra money. Dean sighed and closed the door gently, fighting the anger that was hovering under his skin. “I think there’s some instant noodles in the car, I’ll go check,” he thought out loud to Sam, not looking over at the way he was hunched over his book at the kitchen table, his spin and ribs prominent though the thin cotton of his t-shirt.   

            After Dean heated water in the microwave and poured it into the flimsy white cup, he set it down in front of Sam along with a fork. “Food of champions,” Dean smiled at him weakly, hoping that he mistook the hopelessness for sincerity. Sam hummed, not looking up from his book. “What’re you reading?” Dean asked after burning his mouth on the steaming hot food. Sam flashed him the cover and his grimaced at the picture of Jeffery Dahmer looking back at him in a blue stripped button up shirt. “Pleasant.”

“Don’t you ever wonder what makes these people tick? I mean, we spend our entire lives tracking down grossest creatures, but they’re easy, they have a formula. This guy though? The Zodiac? Ted Bundy? There’s no recipes for those kinds of monsters. That’s what people should really be afraid of.”

Dean blinked at him for a moment before his eyes fell back down to the noodles under his nose.  “Trying to figure them out will drive you crazy, Sammy.”

“But aren’t you curious?”

“No, because if I ever came across one of those worthless excuses for human beings, I’d blow their fucking brains out.”

“Isn’t that scary though? Because that’s what they are, they _are_ human beings. Just like us. What makes us different? Why don’t we go around eating and killing each other for pleasure?”

            Dean gapped angrily, trying to make the words in his head form a coherent sentence. “Because, Sam. Fuck.”

“That’s all we do Dean, we go around killing things, just like them. It’s like Dad’s the next Charles Manson -”

            Dean slammed his fists down on the table, making it rattle and the broth in their cups dance in rings. “Shut up Sam, I’m not kidding.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

The thing about growing up was that you realized how moral your parents were. Dean, more than anyone else knew the harsh reality of that. But it was more than just death. When he was seven, everything his Dad did was magic. The food he cooked, the jokes he told, everything was insurmountable. But now he realized that his Dad’s eggs were runny and his steak was always tough, and the jokes he told were crud and unamusing now that Dean was older.

            He wondered is Sam was still under the illusion that their Dad was immortal. He could tell that the illusion was dwelling though, but it wasn’t completely gone. He wondered if he was noticing things about Dean that weren’t as great as he thought they were when he was younger.

            Dean sighed to himself and pulled at the cheap cigarette between his fingers. Sometimes he wished he could be in Sam’s head so he could know why his eyebrows were always knit and his shoulders were always hunched like he didn’t know how beautiful he was.

He cursed and shook his head, holding the heavy smoke in his lungs as long as he could.

            At that moment, Sam decided to step outside and join him on the concrete steps outside their motel room. “Do you want to go for a ride?”

* * *

 

            When they were in the car, alone, Dean had a feeling that he would never lose him. Maybe it was selfish and border line possessive, but the thought of Sam growing up and leaving him, broke his heart. Because he knew that’s what he wanted. He wanted the whole white picket fence, two and a half kid’s sort of life. The sort of life Dean would never be able to fit into.  

            He had put a George Harrison tape into the player and Behind That Locked Door started to spill into the car, making Dean nostalgic for memories that weren’t his. He glanced at Sam. He was looking out the window, the angel of his jaw sharp and the line of his neck long and smooth. Dean turned back to the road, focusing on staying in his lane instead of the boy in the seat next to him.

            It took thirty-seven miles for Dean to realize that the thing he was trying to run from was still beside him. So he took an exit leading to nowhere. Sam started to sing next to him, his voice too low to be in key with the voice on the stereo. As the road started to narrow and became tree lined, Dean could feel himself grow heavy and he desperately wanted to talk to Sam about it but he knew he couldn’t.

            He didn’t even noticed when the paved road beneath them turned into gravel, and then dirt. “It’s been a long time since we’ve done this,” he looked at Sam out of the corner of his eye, “you know, taken a drive to nowhere, just the two of us.”

“I miss it. It seems like we always have a destination now a days. It’s nice to just go with the flow sometimes.”

            Dean laughed as they approached the end of the road. He slowed to a stop as the front bumper of his car licked long, uncut grass. “Want to go on foot from here?” Sam nodded and they got out of the car.

            Sometimes in Dean’s daydreams, he saw himself with Sam in situations like these where they were walking and his arm was around his shoulder or, in more terrifying imaginations, he was holding his hand. It wasn’t just that Dean wanted to fuck him just because he was desperate for human contact, no he wanted to stroke his thumb down the slope of Sam’s cheek, he wanted to kiss him softly and hold him. That’s what was really terrifying; the romantic nature of his subconscious wanderings.

            He jerked himself back to reality to see that they were still walking, now across some clearing. When he turned back, his car was already out of sight. “You’ve been awfully quite,” Sam observed.

Dean just let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head and burying his hands in his pockets. “Sometimes silence is nice.”

            They cut across the field of knee high grass and stepped over the underbrush that marked the start of an infinite stretch of forest. “When’s the last time you climbed a tree?” Sam asked with a smile, stopping short and propping his sneaker-clad foot up onto the trunk of an especially impressive tree. Dean smiled and ducked his head, watching Sam climb up into the massive branches for a moment before following.

            They went up as high as they could, until the branches got too thin to hold the weight of both of them. They sat down next to each other, Sam holding onto the trunk for support and Dean kicked his feet in the air like a kid, smiling but he didn’t know why. “What’s so funny?” Sam asked and Dean turned to look at him, his bottom lip between his teeth as his bit back a smile. He shrugged, his hands under his thighs.

“Have you ever wanted to do something dumb?”

Sam laughed. “What do you mean? Like what?”

“Just… something dumb. You know you won’t, but you still want to. You know?”

“Well,” Sam hummed, “life’s too short not to do the things you want to. So I’d say do it.”

Dean barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re only saying that because you don’t know what I have in mind.”

“Then tell me.”

“No, no I couldn’t”

“Then why’d you bring it up?”

Dean hummed for a moment, thinking it through. Maybe it was because he wanted to take that leap of faith to see what would happen. But there was only one outcome, he knew that. And he couldn’t run away from Sam like he could some girl he’d be three states away from in less than a week. No, this was Sam, this was his everything, his world. He wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize their relationship.


	3. Chapter 3

When they got back to the motel hours later, Dean half expected their Dad to be there. He wasn’t though and Sam was complaining about being hungry again and Dean didn’t know what to do. They were out of instant noodles and it was too late for any stores in that back woods town to be open, even if they had the money to spare.

            Dean offered him a cigarette with a small breathy laugh. Sam looked him over once before agreeing with a shrug. Dean almost brushed it off and said he was kidding, smoking kills and all that jazz, but after a moment of contemplation, he laughed more sincerely and lead him outside.

            He handed him a smoke and lit it for him. He watched him hold it skeptically between his thumb and forefinger as Dean lit one of his own. “Go on Sammy,” he smiled wickedly, smoke spilling past his lips.

            Sam crinkled his nose and puckered his lips comically before inhaling slowly, almost immediately coughing and holding the cigarette out at arm’s length. “How do you smoke this crap?”

“Just push through the disgust Sam, it’s about to get so good," Dean wiggled his eyebrows and took another drag.

“I don’t know,” Sam hummed, “I’ve seen the shit you hack up in the morning. I might just let you keep that little joy for yourself.”

            Dean laughed because he knew he couldn’t argue with that. “At least finish that one, don’t waste it.”

            Sam complied and Dean watched the look of disgust creep off his face as the cigarette got shorter. “I wonder when Dad will be back.”

            Dean didn’t offer him any sort of answer as they sat on the trunk of the Impala together and watched the sun melt away into the tree lined horizon.

            Six cigarettes and an undistinguished amount of time later, it was dark and the bats had come out to feast on unsuspecting bugs. Sam yawned and stretched his arms behind his head. “Want to head inside?”

            As they got up, the car creaked and Dean wrapped an innocent arm around Sam’s shoulders, pulling him into his chest as they walked.

“I wonder what’s on TV,” Dean thought out loud as Sam turned on a lamp. When he flipped on the television, static cut through the room, loud and abrasive. He fiddled with the rabbit ears antenna sitting on top of the wood paneled box, trying to pick up a channel, any channel at all. “Stop moving Sam, you’re fucking up the reception,” Dean grumbled, twisting the wire slowly.

            He nearly jumped when a voice spilled from the television’s speakers. He held his hands up in surrender and backed away from the set slowly, trying not to breath too hard or move too fast in fear of messing up the picture.

            He climbed into bed next to Sam, kicking his shoes off along the way and ignoring the other empty mattress two feet away. He recognized the movie as _V for Vendetta_ by the girl on the screen with a shaved head pulling a roll of paper out from a hole in a stone wall. The scene melted away to another woman hanging clothes on a line in a field as the actress read from the roll of paper.

            Next to him, Sam was pulling off his sweatshirt, leaving him in in a tight, yellowing wife-beater. In a haze, the woman on the screen watched another feminine figure walk through the billowing fabric on the cloth’s line. Dean watched Sam out of the corner of his eye as the women on the screen fell into a graceful kiss. He desperately wanted to do the same thing to the boy next to him, but he was living in reality and the people on the screen were reading a script, every pretty word laid out in front of them for them to say, thoughtlessly. The world wasn’t as wonderful as the movies made it out to be. If he leaned across the short distance between them and captured Sam’s mouth with his own, he wouldn’t be meet with tender hand on his face, but with a violent fist against his jaw.

            When he looked back at the screen, there were two men entangled with each other as they slept. The door was busted down and they were torn from each other and beaten bloody.

            Dean stood up quickly before he could think of doing otherwise, and walked to the bathroom on fragile legs where there was solitude and poor lighting.

            He flipped on the light and stared at his reflection in the dirty mirror. He watched as the dying bulb overhead flickered and cast ugly shadows across his face. The darkness caught under his eyes and empathized the tired bruising there.

He jumped when there was a knock on the door and Sam asked if he was alright through the plywood. He opened the door and pulled Sam into a hug, guiding his head onto his chest with a hand on the back of his skull. “What’s going on?” Sam asked with a forced laugh, hesitating to return Dean’s embrace.

“Just glad to have you around, is all,” Dean shrugged and let him go.

Sam snorted, “Don’t be such a girl.” Dean watched Sam’s back as he went and climbed back into bed, this time under the sheets. “Come on, let’s finish the movie,” he said with a yawn, patting the mattress next to him. Dean hesitated for a moment before climbing under the covers besides him.

            As the movie came to an end, Sam started to snore lightly next to him. Dean leaned over and watched his eyelids flutter in his shallow sleep before flopping back down against the headboard with a sigh.

            After the closing credits rolling across a black background on the screen, a commercial cut through the room, louder and more obnoxious than Dean was prepared for. He got up to turn the TV off and Sam stirred under the thin sheet. “Where’re you going?” He slurred sleepily.

“Just turning off the TV.”

“Okay. Hurry back,” he sighed before tuning over and falling back asleep on his side

* * *

 

            When Dean was awoken, the room was still dark and the nocturnal creatures outside were still signing their quiet song. It took a moment for him to become aware of himself again, and them another moment for him to register the movement sliding up and down his side. He pulled a sharp breath into his lungs as things started to solidify in the dark room. The blaring streetlight outside their room was muted by thick floral curtains, but it still provided enough light for Dean to make out Sam’s pale skin in the dark. He was desperately rocking his hips against Dean’s thigh, whimpering something in his sleep.

            For a moment, Dean thought about letting him finish, completely unaware that it was his brother he was thrusting up against in his sleep, but the thought passed and he set a shaking hand on his shoulder and pulled him from his sleep.

            He watched Sam’s eyes flutter open slowly before they widened at the recognition of the stiffness between his legs. Dean almost laughed when he threw himself away from Dean in horror and if the situation wasn’t so jarring, he just might have. “Hey,” he whispered instead and reached out to him in the dark, “its okay,” his voice broke as he moved himself closer to Sam’s form huddled under the sheets.

            Sam started to stammer out apologies but Dean hushed him, running his hand down his arm. He heard Sam pull air into his lungs sharply as Dean’s palm fell flat against his stomach. His voice shook as he croaked out Dean’s name, arching into the touch just barely, but enough for Dean to feel confident enough to move his fingers along the waist band of Sam’s boxers. Sam moved into him and buried his face in the crook of Dean’s neck as he slipped his hand into his shorts.

            They were breathing heavily, moister forming between them, hot and heavy as Sam started to move against him again. Dean ran the tips of his fingers along the length of Sam’s spine, feeling the flesh there raise in bumps.

            He was twitching lightly and panting heavily, nipping at Dean’s neck and he wondered if even he knew he was doing it. He could picture Sam’s face perfectly: brows knit and bottom lip pulled back between his teeth. “So pretty, Sammy,” he breathed against Sam’s ear, unable to stop himself. He took the shell of Sam’s ear between his teeth just before his hand was coated with something thick and tacky. Dean coaxed him through it, his open mouth pressed against Sam’s neck.

            He didn’t know what to do once the heat of it was over. He didn’t know where Sam stood or how he felt, so Dean just announced he needed a smoke instead of sitting there waiting for the uncomfortable silence they both knew was coming, before stumbling outside.


	4. Chapter 4

            Dean decided to pretend nothing had happened, he was good that that, probably the best in the world. When he had told Sam we was going out for a smoke, he wasn’t lying, but he found himself behind the wheel of his car before he lit a smoke. He turned the key in the ignition just so the battery turn on along with the lights in the dash, and he pushed the column into neutral. With his left foot on the pavement and his torso twisted so he could look out the back window, he backed the car up with the head lights off far enough away from the motel room so Sam wouldn’t think it was him when he decided to turn the engine on and speed down the road.

            It was cold that night, or maybe it was his blood pressure dropping in time with every passing street light, he wasn’t really sure. He could still feel the heat of Sam’s mouth on his neck and he couldn’t help but hyper focus on it as it burned with slow, white heat.

            Half of him wondered if Sam would go along with it, or if he’d want to talk about. Dean had a feeling that it would be the latter because after all, it was kind of Dean’s fault and Sam had always been more in touch with his feelings than Dean. No one forced him to wake Sam up or hold him or slip his hand into his brother’s boxer shorts. Dean knew that any rational person would have shoved Sam off the bed, or at least left, but Dean was weak and obviously very deeply disturbed. But he was leaving now and he hoped that that was enough.

            He wasn’t leaving for good, no, he wasn’t his father, but he decided to wait until morning to go back. Maybe he’d be able to trick Sam into thinking that he felt guilty for what he did.

* * *

 

            He was running on two hours of sleep. He’d gone with less for longer he knew that, but he was emotionally drained and that was the worst kind of tired. When he pulled back into the motel parking lot, the curtains in their room were still drawn, but the light was on and he took a moment to watch a shadow pace back and forth. He sighed deeply and took the two cups of gas station coffee out of the cup holders and walked to the door. Before he even stepped onto the welcome mat, the door was yanked open and Sam was standing on the other side with his brows furrowed and his mouth turned down in something Dean almost mistook for worry.

“Coffee Sammy?” Dean smiled and stepped around him, slapping his back and he jolted forwards on already unsteady legs.

“We need to talk about it, Dean.”

“Don’t know what you mean,” Dean leaned over the sink and turned on the water, watching it run.

“Stop,” Sam slammed a fist down on the faucet, shutting off the water. “What was that last night?”

“Oh you mean your wet dream?” Dean snapped, not wanting to deal with the upcoming conversation. “Just helping out a brother.” He knew if he was in a different mood, he would have smiled, but he couldn’t bring the muscles in his face to curl his mouth up.

“Well… well it was fucked up.”

“You were the one fucking my leg, Sam,” he snapped, his arms still braced on the lip on the sink. He inhaled deeply, letting his head drop and his shoulder blades kiss under his skin. “But you’re right, I’m sorry Sam. I wasn’t thinking.” He wanted Sam to let it go after that. He just needed a little time to try and reattach all the wires in his head. But Sam wanted answers, and he didn’t blame him, he just didn’t know them himself. “Now take that damn coffee,” Dean grunted, stepping both cups down on the counter.

Sam looked at him from under his eyelashes for a moment before taking the coffee, twisting it between his hands until they were red from the heat and he set it down again. “I still think we should talk about it,” he said more quietly.

“Tell me what you want me to say and I’ll say it,” Dean responded dully. He was tired and when he was tired he got cranky, Sam knew that better than everyone. Sam also knew that he had a looser mouth when he was tired and if he was going to get him talking, now was the time to do it.

“Tell me what you were thinking.” If Dean was going to have the conversation Sam seemed so adamant on having, than Dean needed to get liquored up. Before Dad left, Dean had nicked a bottle of Jim Beam from one of his bags. He had had a few in there and as Dean had anticipated, he hadn’t noticed. It was half empty now and Dean briefly thought about taking a break from his self-medication so he could raise his tolerance, but there would be another bottle to nick, somewhere down the line. So he didn’t worry about the lowering line of liquid in the bottle as he unscrewed the cap and took two generous mouthfuls, jokingly tipping the bottle towards Sam with an eyebrow raised before chucking more of amber liquor after he declined. Sam scoffed and turned away, his arms wrapped around himself awkwardly. “Just tell me what you were thinking Dean.”

            He took another drink, letting the warmth spread through him. He sat down on the bed so the end of the mattress was pressed into his calves and he could kick his feet in midair. “First, why don’t you tell me what you were dreaming about?” Dean smirked at him and he knew it was the alcohol.  Sam blushed and Dean smiled down at his knees. “See, talking about it could make this whole situation a lot worse.”

“But – but I was _unconscious_ Dean,” he scratched the back of his neck. “And I’m your _brother_.”

“Your cock sure didn’t think so,” he took another drink and snorted into the bottle.

Sam grimaced at him like a pouting child before throwing himself down next to Dean on the bed and ripped the bottle out of his hand. When he drank half a mouthful, he coughed painfully, handing it back to Dean who threw another swallow back easily, just to show that he could.

Dean’s head was swimming pretty heavily by then, and frankly, he’d give Sam any answer he wanted, if he could word the question just so. “Go on,” he waved his hand after a few minutes of silence, “ask your damn questions.” Sam shook his head, his hands folded in his lap. “Go on,” Dean shoved their shoulders together.

“Brothers don’t… do that.”

“Really? I could have sworn they made a Hallmark movie about it,” Dean rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you just listen to me for one fucking second, and drop it.”

“But I want to talk about it.”

“Why though?” His voice came out louder than he expected it to. Maybe he would humor him and admit to everything. All the dirty dreams and how sweaty his palms got whenever they sat to close in the car.

“It’s awkward.”

“I’ve had your dick in my hand Sam, I don’t think anything will be awkward between us again,” he snickered when Sam blushed deeply.

He could feel Sam trying to build up some confidence beside him, and the anticipation was killing him a little. “So… do you, like me or something?”

“You’re such a girl,” Dean answered quickly.

“Just answer, jerk.”

“I don’t know if fantasizing about you in the shower counts as having a schoolgirl crush.”

Beside him, Sam’s mouth fell into a thin line as he stood up and laced his fingers behind his head. “Why can’t you be serious for just two minutes?”

“How can you expect me to be serious right now? I honestly can’t believe I’m having this conversation right now,” he fell back and crossed his elbows over his face. “What answer do you want to hear Sam? Either way, the outcome isn’t going to be good.” When he was silent, Dean opened one eye and watched him bite his lip and look down at him. “What?”

“You wanna try something?”

Something was building in Dean’s throat as he sat up again. “What?” Sam inhaled deeply, his chest puffing up before he kneeled down in front of Dean, positioning himself between his knees. With his lip still between his teeth, he looked up at Dean and he could feel Sam’s hands shaking as they hovered over Dean’s thighs. “What?” Dean asked again, quieter than before. He watched Sam’s hands come up and brace themselves on either side of Dean’s face, his fingers curling around the back of his skull. He leaned forward, his eyelids fluttering shut and his mouth slack as he held himself in front of Dean, their noses barely brushing. Dean was breathing shallowly, his hands hanging in midair as he thought about where to set them.

Sam was waiting for him to come the rest of the way, his eyelashes brushing against his cheeks. Dean knew the longer he waited, the more nervous Sam became, but he just wanted to look at him for a second.

Most of the decisions Dean made were spur of the moment, but he didn’t want that with Sam. He wanted to think about everything he did. He wanted to memorize the feeling of his hands on his face and the rhythm of his ribcage trapped between his thighs. So when he pressed his parted lips against Sam’s, he’d like to think that it had nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with the flutter in his chest.  


End file.
